Far From Home
by Vaughn's Jenn
Summary: *10*(YES I'VE FINALLY UPDATED[again]) Vaughn is missing; Sydney has to find him before it's too late [dramatic summary, no?]~A Jennfic~
1. Chaos

Chapter 1: Chaos  
  
People are swarming everywhere. This place is like a giant pit of bodies, moving around, pretending that they're dancing. Who can dance in this place? There's no space, the music crummy, you can't see anything and from what I've seen, none of the guys here are worth looking at.  
  
The only reason I'm even here is because I've been ordered to be. By who? Who else? Arvin Sloane of course. Not that I objected to this trip. I needed to be here. I had to get what I came for. And what I came for didn't concern Sloane in the least. I scan the crowd, trying my best to differentiate between all the faces that loom in front of me. I keep my gun nestled in the small of my back and it is reassuring for me to know that it is there. I feel safe every time I take a step and feel it jab against the small of my back.  
  
I walk out a side door and smile at a guard. "Excuse me, can you point me to a restroom please?" I smile as prettily as I can, showing off my dimples and hope to God that he's straight. He is and winks as he points to his left. I sashay in front of him and head off in the general direction he points to. But as soon as the shadows cover me, I run off to a corridor that branches from the main one of the dirty club.  
  
My footsteps are quiet as I race off down the corridor, something I find myself doing a lot, and I realize just how quietly I am breathing. I slip into a doorway and find myself facing him.  
  
"Hello," I say in a clipped tone.  
  
"You're late. I was expecting you half an hour ago. Don't you want what you came for? Don't you want it real bad?" His voice is husky and deep and I know he is riddling every word he says with innuendos on purpose.  
  
"Cut the shit. I've got what you want. Where are the codes?"  
  
He grins, noticing my own unintended innuendo, and winks at me. I want to scrape out his eyes but I keep myself calm. "Oh, is that what you're calling them now?"  
  
My temper flares and I fight to keep it under control. "We're working on the same fucking side Horace. If you don't give me what I came here for, I promise you that you'll regret it."  
  
For the first time, I see fear run across his face and I nearly smile, glad that he knows what I'm capable of. But he's not smart enough to heed threats and he leers at me once again. "How about I want to change the price? Maybe I'll even lower it. . . if you're willing to lower something of your own."  
  
Time's up. I lift my leg and bring it crashing down onto his head; not enough to knock him out but hard enough so that he gets the point. In a second I'm on my knees, bringing the gun to his throat. "I am sick of playing these games. You WILL give me what I came for. Or you will never be able to give anybody anything again. And don't start with your macho "I'm not afraid of death" speech. Maybe I'll keep you alive. Maybe I should aim elsewhere hmmm?" I lower the gun until it is level with his crotch. "Are you willing to risk it Horace? What kind of man would you be then? Oh, you'll make your harem cry when they find out. Or do you fear the taunts of the other men more?"  
  
He gulps and gives up. Nodding silently, seeing me as a danger instead of a piece of meat, he hands me the envelope with hate in his eyes. Sorry I had to rid you of your masculine pride bitch. But I can't wait for this nicely anymore. I throw a wad of cash at his feet and leave him there on the ground.  
  
I walk out of the side exit more quickly than I should have but I can't wait. I get into my car. Putting the key into ignition, I drive to the motel I checked into an hour ago. The Discount Inn. Wearily I pull off my strawberry blond wig and wipe off the excess makeup of my face before walking up the path to my room and turn the key.  
  
After turning on the lights and sitting on the bed, I am finally ready. Hands trembling, I look at the envelope in my hands. It is thick. I know that part of its contents are the fake codes I made Sloane believe he had to have but the rest of it is for me.  
  
Okay, I'm ready. It's going to be okay. I pull out the stack of pictures from inside the envelope and flip through them. One after another, they all show the same face. Thin, gaunt, bruised. Vaughn.  
  
My heart breaks. But he is still alive. And that means I still have time to save him. And I will. Because if he dies, I will too.  
  
TBC. . . review! 


	2. Message in a Picture

Chapter 2:  
  
Vaughn's absence was the product of the CIA's impotence. I wanted to kick something, throw a chair out the window. . . anything to release all the emotion pent up inside of me. But I only felt sadness.  
  
I looked closely at the pictures. Here was Vaughn, in a cell. This had to be a recent one. He looked as though he had lost twenty pounds. There was a fresh bruise on his cheek. I wanted to cry. Once again, a love of my life has been taken away from me. I look at the pictures without seeing them, trying to force them to talk to me and tell me that he is going to be okay. I memorize his face, try to picture him in my mind, talking to me or giving me a mission.  
  
It's always the little things you remember when you lose someone.  
  
I remember one time when it was raining while we were having our meeting. It had been one of our first ones where I still wasn't sure if I liked him or not. I hadn't known then that I would come to love him. He had looked at me, and then said something stupid and obvious like "You're all wet", and then he tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear.  
  
I think that's the thing that struck me the most. How he was always able to find compassion for everyone; how he always managed to look out for me in every way that he could when he wasn't even sure he was appreciated.  
  
If he were here now, I would tell him. Tell him how much he matters to me, tell him that I know how he feels and I feel it too.  
  
And then I notice something peculiar about his hands. In every picture, he is in the exact same pose except his hands are always shaped differently. I take a closer look. And finally see it. Adrenaline suddenly rushes through my system as I realize Vaughn's brilliance.  
  
I tie my hair back, keeping it from becoming too much of a nuisance. It was time to brush up on my sign language. Were these pictures in order? Please let them be in order. I quickly flip through them and even though I might just be convincing myself, I think I see his getting thinner, as if I'm looking through a flipbook. But I decide to trust my instinct and get to work. The first one is subtle, as if he's scared and unsure of how smart his captors were. How did they hurt you Vaughn? Tell me where you are so I can save you. I need you in my life. Don't give up on my now. T. Tennesee? Turkey? I flip to the next picture, the next and then the one after that. It's all coming back quickly now. R-A-T-T-O-.  
  
I don't have to go on. I know where he is.  
  
Italy, here I come. 


	3. Mistake of a lifetime

3.  
  
The next 5 hours are a blur. I don't remember packing, I don't remember don't remember driving to the airport, hell I don't even remember making the reservations.  
  
All I know is that suddenly I am on an airplane, in the air, going to Italy, and I have no idea where to go when I get there. The only thing that bugs me though is that Vaughn was signing Trattoria di Nardi to me. Why the name of the restaurant he promised to take me to instead of just telling me that he was in Italy? How was he so sure that I would remember? How did he know that enough pictures would be taken for him to finish the word?  
  
There are so many things about Vaughn that I don't know, things that I can't even begin to know. But I want to. I want to know everything about him, what makes him twitch, what makes him cry, what pisses him off.  
  
When you love somebody, you love them for their imperfections. Not in spite of them. Because how stupid would that be? If everyone were loved in spite of their faults, then everybody would be exactly the same. It is only when everybody has his or her own problems that they become a unique person. Michael was -is- unique because I never found a fault in him. And in a world like this one, that is a rare find.  
  
And I intend to keep him.  
  
I lean back on my chair, my head completely relaxing against the cushiony headrest and I close my eyes, thinking. I have to know what to know when I get there. I can't afford to lose any more time.  
  
Nothing comes to me and I'm so frustrated I could scream. But instead I cry. I feel the tears coming down my cheeks and I can only remember that incident over and over in my head. How can I not feel guilty? It's my fault. It's all my fault. If I hadn't been so completely stupid, SD-6 would be gone by now. Obliterated.  
  
~Flashback~  
  
"Sydney, get your butt in here now. I know you're sleeping but I always see you when your sleeping and we never have enough time with each other anymore so you are going to come in the kitchen and help me bake a cake for Will." I sleepily opened my eyes at the sound of Francie's voice.  
  
Good-naturedly, or just because I knew the truth of her words and felt the stab of guilt, I rolled out of bed and slumped to the kitchen. "Alright, I'm up."  
  
Francie rolled her eyes. "Get washed up, I don't want Will to eat this and than pronounce it the worst cake ever because your eye-crust stuff fell into the batter or something disgusting like that."  
  
I cracked a smile. "Sorry, I'll go wash up. But you know that Will would never say that you baked a bad cake. . . even if you washed your hair in it. Please don't take me up on that though."  
  
Twenty minutes later, we were covered with flour and giggling about something or other. I remember wishing that my life were simpler, that I could do this whenever I wanted, never having to worry about distraction, never having to leave even if I did get a phone call-  
  
The phone rang. I saw Francie's face fall out of the corner of my eye and I flipped it open with my flour-covered hands. "Hello?"  
  
"Hi, may I speak to Alanna please?"  
  
Alanna? Was that ever one of my aliases? And even if it were, no one would call me by that especially because this phone was registered in my name.  
  
"Hello?" The man on the line sounded a little freaked out by now. Which was understandable.  
  
I laughed, realizing that this call actually was a wrong number. "I'm sorry, you have the wrong number."  
  
"Oh, all right, Sorry." To Sydney, the man seemed a little relieved.  
  
"Hey, Syd, I've realized that you never get any right numbers on that phone. And everyone's always calling you about that Joey's Pizza thing. Maybe you should change your number."  
  
"I don't think so. I mean, I've memorized this one already and everything. And the bank bought this number so I don't think that that would go well over them. Besides, everyone gets wrong numbers."  
  
"Yeah but you always seem to get more wrong numbers than right ones. Why don't you just turn off your phone for the next like half hour it takes to finish making this damn cake? Please? We hardly ever see each other anymore and its never like this and. . ." Francie's voice trailed off, looking uncertain.  
  
"Well," I felt so bad, I really did. But what was a spy to do? I had to leave it on at all times. I had to.  
  
"Besides, who calls you about work at 7 in the morning about bank stuff that can't wait for later?"  
  
I bit my lip, really anxious about what I was supposed to do. What could happen in 30 minutes that wouldn't happen in 40 minutes? And if it was that important, surely they would keep calling or leave an encoded message? I switched my phone off, smiling at Francie and once again submerging my hands into the dough. This cake actually was going to be from the both of us.  
  
~End Flashback~  
  
What an idiotic thing to do.  
  
Aren't I trained to always think of the worst-case scenario or something?  
  
Why couldn't I let myself believe just for one second that maybe the CIA would have to call? That today was the day that they were going to bring down SD-6? That they either needed my help from the inside or wanted me to get out of the region as fast as I could?  
  
That I would never get that call because it slipped my mind that the phone was off?  
  
And that Vaughn would be taken in result of my actions.  
  
  
  
AANNNNDDDD??? (review) I think that this chapter wasn't as up to par as the other ones. . . I'm thinking about rewriting it so give me your thoughts. . . 


	4. Realization

4.  
  
So here I am. Standing all my myself in an airport in Italy with a duffel bag and no idea where to go next. I still don't understand what he was doing- what he was trying to do. Why would he sign Trattoria di Nardi instead of Italy? Why wasn't there any more information?  
  
I felt like screaming in frustration. But I contained myself (what else could I do?) and walked into a McDonalds that was a few feet away. Sitting in the corner, I flipped through the pictures again.  
  
And for some reason, I felt like Vaughn was looking at me; I felt as if he was trying to tell me something but I wasn't sure what.  
  
I closed my eyes, fear making me feel as if I were slipping in and out of consciousness. Vaughn. . . where are you?  
  
I can't believe that SD-6 could have been gone. It's finally about to happen but somehow, I still feel as if I could end up alone. This wasn't supposed to happen. Vaughn was supposed to be here with me. I wipe a tear away from my eye and lean forward, resolving to figure out the meaning of the pictures.  
  
Then I remember Horace. Him and his little twitches, his quirks, the way his mouth twitched when he handed over the photos. My mind wound over and over again and I saw it clearer everytime.  
  
And then I knew that the son of a bitch had tricked me. Who knew whom he was working for? I stare at the pictures, willing his image to come alive and just tell me. And then I start to remember-  
  
~Flashback~  
  
"Hey Sydney, do you want to work out some sort of code?"  
  
"What the hell are you talking about Vaughn? Code?"  
  
"Just in case. I know that it sounds really stupid and cliché but if you were to get caught and there was some way we could communicate-"  
  
"Vaughn, stop worrying about me so much. This one will be a piece of cake. I won't get caught."  
  
"Maybe not this time. But what about in the future?"  
  
I can't help but smile at his earnestness. I kiss him on the cheek. "I'll be fine."  
  
He nods silently and I know that he still wants to.  
  
"All right, tell me."  
  
"This is going to sound dumb and childish I know. It's just that I want to have every precaution done. I don't want anything to happen to you. So if there is a visual then right means right and left means lie. If there is sound, crying means lie. If there is touch or any other sensory through the hands or feet, make sure that the pinky of your hands or feet stays out of contact with whatever you touch. Just- Just do it okay?"  
  
I sigh and agree before walking out of the warehouse.  
  
~End Flashback~  
  
It didn't seem so stupid now.  
  
That had been years ago. He couldn't have remembered could he? We had never used it. I didn't even recall it until now.  
  
But now that I have, I want to hit myself. It's as clear as day. His hands formed a T and his eyes looked left. His hands formed an R and he looked left. Left left left left left left left left.  
  
It was all a lie.  
  
"Horace, I am going to kill you," I murmur before getting up. I don't know where Vaughn is yet but I do know where he isn't. He isn't in Italy. And he is definitely being tortured or given some sort of serum. He would never voluntarily give up personal information. Not Trattoria di Nardi. Never.  
  
TBC~ Review (I know it's a little far-fetched.lemme know of any changes you want made) ~Jenn 


	5. Searching

**Far From Home**

**5. **

_No idea. I have no idea what to do. Where the hell am I supposed to go from here? I thought he was a genius for the sign language. _

_But that was staged. The pictures were faked._

_I should have shot Horace when I had the chance. _

_I would have been caught in Italy. _

_But he knew. He knew I would remember. _

_So here I am, in a crowd at the airport, waiting to go back to LA. But where can I go now? How can I go back without anything to show for my absence?_

_Vaughn, please give me another clue. I need another clue. Please._

_I promise I'll find you. I promise._

_And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

I readjust my grip on the small duffel bag hanging from my arm. I feel dead, as if I've been killed.

And I suppose, in a way, I have. I died the moment Vaughn was kidnapped.

No. I'm not going to let myself think like this. How many times have I got myself down when I lost someone?

I don't work well under conditions like these. So now I have to concentrate. I have to find him.

~:~

So once again, I find myself flipping through the photos, first looking at them slowly for any details and then flipping through them rapidly, watching the blur that rises from the page.

I move a little in my seat and look up, rubbing my sore eyes as I look quickly at the screen above me at the movie playing above.

I don't know what movie it is but Jodie Foster is kissing someone and I don't know who the man is but, for some reason, the scene gives me some sort of adrenaline and I go looking again.

_C'mon Sydney, think. Just think. Okay, he's not in Italy. Look at the pictures. He would never give me a negation without giving me some sort of clue would he?_

_Okay, okay. If there was any time to be smart, this would be it._

_Okay, he's thin and his hands are forming signs and his eyes are looking left. I don't see anything else new._

_It's just him, sitting on a worn mattress, giving me false clues while also giving me also giving me a ray of hope._

_Maybe it's not him... maybe it's something... about him? Around him? Next to him?_

Despite myself, I gasp a little at my own revelation.

Around him. Next to him. Not on him.

I feel a little triumphant at finding it. Again. 

Thank you Vaughn. Thank you thank you thank you.

And I pray that I am right this time. And I thank God that I have Vaughn to lead me where I have to go. I look up, making sure it is safe to use my phone. I unbuckle my seatbelt and make my way slowly to the plane bathroom and, as I put down the seat and sit on the lid of the toilet, dial a number.

"Weiss."

"Weiss? This is Sydn- Agent Bristow."

"What do you want?"

I have to try hard not to flinch. I know that he dislikes me. That he has every reason to dislike me; how could he not?

I cost him his best friend.

"I think I might have found a clue as to where Vaughn is."

Almost immediately, his tone changes and becomes more energized. "Where?"

"I need your help."

"You've got it. Just tell me what I need to do."

"I'm going to e-mail you around 30 pictures from the plane okay? Marshall updated my laptop. I need you to enlarge the surroundings. Everything except Michael himself."

"Where will you be?"

"Coming home."

"What? Where are you now? I haven't sent you on any missions."

"Is that really the important issue right now? I got photographs of Vaughn from a faulty contact and the clues that I found were staged. But I know that Vaughn left another clue somewhere. I know it."

"Wait what? What contact? How the hell could you trust him Syd? We haven't run him through the program or checked his records-"

"Shut up Weiss. Don't you think I know that? He was a faulty contact and gave me staged photographs. But that's not the important part. The important part is that Vaughn knew."

"Knew what?"

"Okay, the reason I'm in Italy is because I noticed something about Vaughn's hands. He was signing what I thought would be where he was. Trattoria di Nardi. His favorite restaurant in Italy. But when I got there, I got a weird instinct and when I looked at the pictures again, I found out something.

"Everything time he signed a letter, his eyes would look left."

"SO?"

"So he and I worked out a code years ago. Left means lie. He's anywhere but Italy."

"Or he's anywhere but Trattoria di Nardi."

I stop. I hadn't thought of that. 

"Okay, you can check up on that but I need you to please check the photographs for any clues. Anything that might tell us where he is."

"All right Sydney. Is that it?"

I bite my lip. "No. There is one more thing."

"What?"

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. I know that this is all my fault and that turning off my phone was a selfish thing to do. I'm sorry."

He heaves a big sigh and I feel the tears crawling towards my eyes again. "It's okay Syd. We all make mistakes. The important thing is that we have to get Vaughn back."

"I know."

"Syd?"

"What?"

"I- never mind. I'll work on it."

"Okay."

I end the call, a little apprehensive at what I've done. I shouldn't have called him, much less had a complete conversation on the phone with him. But we didn't say any specific words so I figure we're all right.

And if we're not, well then, that's just a risk we'll have to take. No risk is too big to take on Vaughn. I learned that when he contracted that virus nearly a year ago.

I almost lost him then. And I'm certainly not going to lose him now.

TBC…

Tell me what you think… I know that it's been awhile but try to find the strength that I know is in you somewhere to review!

It's fun for me and when it's fun for me, that means more chapters for you. ;)

-Jenn


	6. Pieces Coming Together

****

Hey guys, I'm sooooo sorry that it's been so long; I wanted to update, I really did, it's just that I had massive- _and I mean massive_- writer's block. So all I can do now is apologize and tell you that I have suddenly received a brainstorm so here it is.

I'm 16 in 6 days!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So, here it is, thanks to all of you who actually stuck with it and continually reminded me that this fic existed.

-Jenn

6. Pieces Coming Together.

The phone rings suddenly, breaking the still silence with its shrill ring. It rings once, twice, but it is snatched up before the third ring can commence with the amazing quickness of a wrist which snaps as its fingers flip the phone open. 

"Hello?" Her voice sounds the same, a little curious maybe but the cadence of her words is definitely normal and she doesn't seem to be in any hurry. 

The voice on the other end of the line however, is. 

The inquiry for Joey's Pizza is made as if the person on the other line is on his deathbed, filled with scary secrets that can only be opened by the pizza from Joey's and nowhere else. Intensity accompanies every syllable, making the two words weigh a ton each and making the phone suddenly seem heavy in her hand.

She puts the phone down before she loses her control and demands to know what's going on. Instead, she hangs up, knowing that her answer, or lack thereof, will be understood. 

The groceries are left in their cart in the middle of aisle 4 at Ralphs, the doors are still open from her exit when her car goes flying out into the streets. The feeling of control that consumes her as she grips the wheel firmly is a complete façade, she knows this. She knows that if she, even for one second, lets go of the wheel or leans back in a more relaxed position she will break down in tears. Even though she does not yet know what is waiting for her, what information will have appeared, she can't help but feel that dark hollow echo that resonates within herself so deeply that she is unaware of where exactly it comes from.

She reaches the warehouse in record time and she can almost convince herself that the rubber of her tires is actually burning as she quickly locks her car door and practically runs through the old entrance.

"Eric," she leans over herself, breathless, speaking to the figure standing in the back of the warehouse. "What is it?"

Now that she is closer, she can see the whiteness of his face though she doesn't yet know what to make of it. Cautiously she reaches out an arm to gently touch him, an expression of concern and a little fright spread across her face.

But he shrugs off her hand from his arm and instead takes her arm and leads her in an adjoining room, the only light coming from the computer screen. The room is nearly bare, furnished only with a table and a chair. The table is cluttered with papers and pictures and the computer glows with the information already shown on it.

Without a word, he composes his face until it is unreadable and closes all the documents. Turning to her, he hands her the pictures and finally speaks. "Figure this out for yourself and let me know what _you_ find. Go through it, spend as much time as you want, I've got you covered. Just… just let me know when you're through all right?"

She's never heard him sound like that before. It's almost a quality of desperation that frightens her but she doesn't know how to answer him so she merely takes his the pictures and nods slightly. She turns and to the desk and sits down, staring blankly at the empty white screen of the computer for a second before switching on the dim light and bending over the pictures, her fingers trembling ever so slightly with anticipation and fright of what she might find.

Sometime later, she hears Weiss leave and the door softly close but she doesn't look up. She is worried about what she might find. 

****

You guys should definitely thank Secret Agent Girl because I would have "TBC'd" had it not been for her telling me to go on or die… well not die…I'm exaggerating

The first picture is familiar. An all too gaunt Vaughn is staring, the sheets are around him as he sits forlornly on the bed in his bare room, his hands making a slight sign while he looks left. Almost as if he is ashamed to be doing this. This picture is the same and tells her nothing; it is picture 7 and the only thing different is a red marking on the picture, a red mark circling a small dark spot on the sheet.

She strains but cannot make out what it is.

Turning to the next picture she sees the spot amplified. She sees now that they are words. A website. 

She warily turns to the computer and logs on, typing the URL in and waiting. The minutes go by slowly and as she sits there softly drumming her fingers, listening for footsteps outside the door, she flips to the next picture. Only it isn't a picture. It's merely a note in Eric's handwriting, merely a list of stuff that he has jotted down apparently while he was looking through the website.

__

How did M make?

-precaution?

The "precaution" is crossed out with wild, erratic strokes and replaced with **File 473**.

Furrowing her brow she returns her attention to the computer screen. There is nothing there but a large picture of a man who looks eerily like Michael himself. The small caption underneath the picture states firmly "William Vaughn." That's it, there are no other words. 

She doesn't understand why this is here, doesn't know why Michael would write this on his sheets and then, knowing that it would one day be found, only placed a picture of a loved one on the page. Unless…

She opens up the Artist's program from the browser, noting that Eric has also done this. She copies the picture onto the screen and leans forward in sudden concentration as she begins the tedious process of rearranging the pixels that make up this picture.

The first time that she lifts up that tiny square that makes up only a fraction of one corner, she gasps because she can see the beginning of a letter. It is then that she understands why Eric wanted her to find this for herself instead of saving hours and merely showing her what he himself had found. He did it to make sure that what he had found was correct and also so that she understood completely what she had found; the more they both knew and understood, they better they could work in sync. 

And bring Vaughn home.

~:~

5 hours and no breaks later, she leans back to stretch her arms and her tired neck. She allows her eyes to close for a second to alleviate the burning sensation that is racing throughout her entire body, radiating from her eyes.

The letters are finally uncovered.

The code is here, waiting to be broken. Sydney looks at her watch and reminds herself to call home and tell Francie that she will be late or not come home at all before she leans over the code again. She prints out the letters and numbers that cover the screen and picks up the pad of paper and the pencil lying on the table. Two of the sheets are ripped out but all the others are still there.

And so it begins.

…3pu3/2pu3nwod1/1pu4nwod3…

B- RPC CS OEVUX - XXYMM LBEI CW XLW RZFEZ VC GJXINV JB XIN OFH.

QX TRBYTJWK JB RPC EO JGDRHFWX

J'V VFYPBLINRU OSS F.Z.

OXX NDGI CMNN PFOX

GRPF 12PU3/14PU3NWOD1/3PU4NWOD3 FET DRGRRJBLEM

AFXTFWIE

JQ XXVLRRH XR JC

LVAGSJWURBAMOR-

LVAVZ

EEVPLO

TBC… omg, you don't even know how long it took me to make this code… but it was fun so hopefully you guys will at least try to figure it out…

And if you do, you are welcome to praise yourself and tell the world in your review but please don't write what the message is

Thanks, love you all, sorry about the long wait.

-Jenn


	7. Decipher

**Far From Home**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:**

**Okay, first of all, I want to apologize.**

**I know that this story was supposed to be in Sydney's POV and I just completely blanked while I was writing the last chapter so I'm sorry. **

**None of you complained so I'm hoping that it wasn't a grevious mistake... I think that I'm going to keep on writing in 3rd person though because all my others are written that way and I think it's easier for me.**

**I had meant to write in a variety of styles and mix things up so that every single thing I wrote wouldn't be exactly the same but I guess that this one is a botched experiment.**

**So sorry once again,**

**The answer to the code is finally here. (Thanks to the couple of you who reviewed and attempted to solve it!)**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:**

7. 

She squinted her eyes before sighing and closing them completely and rubbing them with weary hands for the tenth time that hour. She knew that she had asked for a sign, any sign but she hadn't anticipated one of this complexity. Vaughn now had even more of her respect for his cunning.

For some reason she felt resentment towards Eric; she understood that he wanted her to fully understand everything for herself but if he had already figured this out, how could it hurt for him to tell her? They were wasting precious time. Clenching her hand into a tight fist and hitting it forcefully on the table-top, she thought of Michael and opened her eyes, ready to once again tackle this strange intricacy of numbers and words. 

Sydney had already put together every type of combination she could think of so she knew at least one thing. This was not a stable code. She had wasted hours trying to match a single letter to another and had met with failure each time. But she learned from her mistakes. And here was the building block she had achieved.

This was a moving code.

It shifted every letter and she decided that Vaughn wouldn't be so heartless not to give her some clue. And, knowing him, it would be the first line.

So she concentrated on the blurry line on the screen.

**...3pu3/2pu3nwod1/1pu4nwod3...**

Pu and nwod. 

Her world reversed. Pu. Up? Nwod. Down?

She tried it, scribbing on the notepad that was already missing 20 sheets that had been ripped out angrily and thrust to the floor.

3up3/2up3down1/1up4down3

Could up mean addition? She quickly put the digits together: 6/4/2. Was that the code? Did the letters shift in those increments? 

She tried the first few words. They didn't make sense. So she worked backwards. The B- could have been Bristow but that wouldn't work. But if it was "S" for Syd... She counted the letters from S to B. 

9.

She suddenly lurched forward, eyes widening in sudden epiphany. 

3up3 = 3^3= 3 to the third = 9.

She tried the next one.

2up3down1= 2^(3-1) = 4

And the next.

1up4down3 = 1^(4-3) = 1

9. 4. 1. 

She tried the first line. 

**B- RPC CS OEVUX - XXYMM**

B-9 = S

RPC = (R-4)(P-1)(C-9) = NOT

That was an actual word. An actual word in the English language. She smiled for the first time in 15 hours and went eagerly on, filled with a new energy that filled her entire body. She was finally getting somewhere and this joy that filled her to bursting would only be amplified with each decoded letter.

CS= YR

That wasn't a word. Her brow furrowed before relaxing again. He didn't have all the time in the world. He would have to shorten some words... Yr= your?

OEVUX- FAULT.

This was working. She relaxed, feeling the ache in her back as she allowed herself to crumple and close her eyes, just for a second, before hunching over the paper once more.

40 minutes later, she was done; jubilant, joyous, and another step closer to finding Vaughn. But when she reread the note, confusion set in once more. 

**S- NOT YR FAULT- WOULD HAVE**

**BEEN TKN NYWAY**

**MY FATHER IS THE KEY.**

**MY K-NAPPING IS NOT AN ACCIDENT**

**I'M REPLACEMENT FOR W.V.**

**NOT MUCH TIME LEFT**

**FILE 473 WAS UNFINISHED**

**RE-OPENED**

**AM WORKING ON IT**

**            PROCRASTINATING**

**            HURRY**

**                        VAUGHN**

File 473? She looked at Eric's note lying on the table with the words File 473 in block letters, circled 5 five times and underlined twice. She checked the table and smiled. The thick manila envelope lay on the table, the tight script of the label naming it to be File 473, the file on which Vaughn was working on and was taken for.

It was time to learn the truth. She took out the contents and skimmed her eyes over the words, mouth slackening.

And so it begins.

**TBC... **

**SO????????? **

**What did you think about the code??? Smart enough for you?**

**Haha, who got it?**

**So... If you want to find out more about this mysterious file, click the little purple button at the bottom left-hand corner of this chap... You know you want to ;)**

**Whew... Finally got to decode the code... It took soooo long~**

**Hope you enjoyed it.**

**~Jenn.**


	8. Complete Files

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Far From Home

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Yeah okay…It's been awhile I know. I'm really really sorry and I can't tell you how many nights I've thought about how to finish this story before giving up and falling asleep…it's still not completely done in my head but I just had a flash of how to start it and I've never been one for prewriting so I figure, what the hell…let's do it.

Sorry for the wait.

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To Raina…boy scout… I-luv-alias… jam… thanks for insisting that I write the next chap~ it's always nice to know that your fic hasn't been forgotten.

8.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Her voice was guarded and low, her throat still slightly parched from not speaking in so long. She knew that her eyes were bloodshot and somewhere inside of her she knew that it has been too long since she has last slept but it didn't matter.

Eric looked at her, eyes widening mildly. "What would you have said?"

"I don't know but it would have been nice to get a head's up on this," She leaned back against the crates, letting her eyes close for a moment's rest. "Does Vaughn have the complete file 473?"

Weiss almost laughed at her but it was more an urge from the sudden nervousness that permeated through his entire system. "Do you really think that the CIA would ever let him see the complete file?"

"Why did they let _us_ see it?"

"Well… it's got a price now- you know how valuable Vaughn is to us right now now that we are in the middle of all this crap. And also because they didn't let us see the complete copy," he grinned slightly, "I tried my hand at stealthiness too."

In spite of the situation, Sydney had to laugh. "Please don't tell me you were stupid enough to swipe the file now that it has our fingerprints all over it."

"No… that one's a copy." He sobered then, looking up at her. "It was a surprise though huh?"

She shoved her hands into her pockets, tears suddenly pooling into her eyes. "I don't want to talk about it right now."

Eric nodded, understanding.

"I'm just going to go home and…sleep or something. I'll be back tomorrow."

She walked out of the warehouse and reached her car before the slow tears began to fall. _Oh Vaughn… What's going to happen to you?_

****

TBC…

Please review ~

And yes I know it's short but if you think it's good, I'll start the next portion pronto.


	9. Intersections

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Far From Home

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Hmmm…read this story over and I have to say that I like it and I don't know why I had so much trouble writing it because it's clear to me now… so expect many updates~

Kat: haha…yes there are 7 but now that I have found my stride, I'm thinking I'm going to continue this one, the way it should be, remembrance, and maybe a little vivian mostly even though I probably will surprise you with some updates of others too. You know me. I can't for some reason work on anything for an extensive period of time.

SAG: yes. I am the queen of cruel. But not really because I'm too selfish to withhold updates…Gracie is definitely reviving. I'm writing the 6th chap of The Way It Should Be right now too so don't think I'm lagging on the updates yet! Then again, you are also cruel…where's CH. 4 of Mental Break?!?!?!?!?!

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9.

She creeps slowly to her room so that she won't wake up Francie, stepping quietly on each plank while the manila envelope is clutched in the death-like grip of her hand. She smiles slightly as she sees the post-it note sticking to her door. 

"Syd… you're probably sneaking back from your bank business and trying not to wake me up… don't wake me up anyway but I just wanted to say Hi and that I'll be here for you with ice cream tomorrow. –Fran"

She almost forgets to be sad as she takes the post-it off the door and enters her bedroom. Tiredness falls over her and veils her as her eyes droop slowly… but she cannot sleep. She lies in bed, staring at the nothingness that the darkness gives her, knowing that the file is underneath her pillow and that her confusion and curiosity will get the better of her need for sleep.

So she rubs her tired eyes with a sigh and switches on the light on her bedside table, reaching under her pillow to get a hold of the envelope. It is thick and heavy in her hand and brings her much closer to Vaughn's father than she ever thought she could be. For she has in her possession the complete file.

And Vaughn, she knows, only has a portion of it. The portion containing only Rambaldi's mysteries and problems without the reasons behind them.

She leans her head against the backboard of her bed, closing her eyes for a moment's relaxation before she charges on. Despite the fact that the words have already been skimmed, if not read, by her, she knows that a part of her still does not believe. 

It doesn't seem possible that the Bristows and the Vaughns could have anything else more tying them together.

And yet Rambaldi is once again the element that manages to do so.

She pulls her hair back into a ponytail so that it's off her neck as she looks at the tight script of William Vaughn's journal.

__

When I was assigned to the Rambaldi case, it was for my country. My sense of duty towards this land of freedom and opportunity… in hopes that I would be able to contribute everything I can and all that I am to making this land safe.

For all families.

But now, it's not possible. 

I did not believe in Rambaldi until now. We were in Moscow earlier today, retrieving the files needed for continuing our search.

The specifications of this should not and should never be written in anything as tangible and easily taken as this and yet it must be written. So I shall say only this.

That among other things, Milo Rambaldi understood the mechanisms and the workings of the human body more thoroughly than any doctor I have ever met. He knew it well enough to find how to make it ill, how to make it well. How to make it live and die. 

This I knew and it is now this I find.

For before now, I never knew how closely our ties bound us together. But the retrieved data clearly indicated me, my family. My son. 

I dedicated myself for my country. But in this case, my family must take precedent. I will never cease doing my duty but I cannot allow Rambaldi's experiments to run their course in my family. 

There are no dates, not to her knowledge anyway, and all she can do is wonder at what he found and if she can even believe his words. The only thing that enters her mind are the memories of the days she thought Vaughn was dead…the days where he was absent from her life and thus showed her how much she truly needed him. How much she loved him.

Loves him.

And now he has been taken from her again but it a way that has outweighed her wildest imagination. He was not taken in punishment but for her own ineptitude. 

He was taken for Rambaldi. 

Biting her lip, she slips the photocopy of the journal entry back into the envelope and picks up the Xerox of the Rambaldi manuscript that follows it. And the image she sees is all too familiar.

Three DNA strands, three encrypted names, all tied and drawn together inside of an elaborate sketch of the human body.

When all three are combined, something will happen. When all three are separated, a fate will be moved into place.

Page 46. 

She looks up into the empty space in front of her, not knowing what to think, reeling again from what she has been shown already. She knows what image Page 47 holds. She just does not understand what information page 46 can have and why the CIA has withheld that information from her.

Unless they were using him too.

She shakes her head to free her thoughts, reminds herself to remain objective as she turns to the next page.

William Vaughn's tight script nearly covers the whole page and it paper-clipped to a decreased image of the DNA strands.

MV 1970

ID 1952

SB 1973

For the second time, her blood runs cold at the sight of these initials. But perhaps, because she is in her bed and surrounded by the heavy emptiness, the information more fully sinks into every pore of her and she finds that the tips of her fingers are trembling.

For she was born in 1973. Her mother in 1952.

And all three have been intersected though divided again.

She moves on.

****

TBC…

Well…how was the length of this one? A little better? 

Gracie got me going what can I say? I'll try to write another within the next couple of days but leave me a review telling me what you think about what I wrote, what I'm writing, and what I should write because inspiration can last only for so long and I'm already unsure about the future. 

~Jenn

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	10. Fallen

**Far From Home**

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FINALS ARE OVER!!!!!!!! //writing frenzy//

10.

When she wakes up, the sun is in her eyes the way she remembers, stinging the skin of her eyelids until she finally gives up her façade and opens them sleepily. It is then that she sees the manila envelope lying on her stomach so lazily and it is then also when her stomach churns.

As she wakes up, as she moves to get her bearings, to clean herself up, only one single thought consumes her. _We have to save Vaughn. We must get to Vaughn. Before it's too late..._

Her hair is still mussed from the pillow and her own tossing and turning that occurred throughout the night but it doesn't matter anymore. She's pulling a wool sweater over her hair, angering it even more, and then she's out the door. She never changed out of her jeans last night and for that she's thankful. She needs to get out, needs to leave. 

The small yellow post-it from Francie falls from her back where it had stuck during the night and drifts lazily on to the wooden floor where it lays face down.

And then she's gone. Out to do who knows what but she does and she's not sharing. She's not sharing because her eyes are like fire, contrasting with everything else about her because she knows deep inside that her blood is like ice. 

She burning up but she's freezing and there's only one thing that can remedy this torture that her body is going through and this is Vaughn. She allows her eyes to close for a second as she walks down the hall, trusting that it will continue to lie straight towards the door so that she won't walk into anything while she imagines his warm arms coming from behind and holding her against him, finally allowed to revel in the glory of his presence… 

Finally able to look him in the eye with all the emotions stated plainly in hers. _I want you. I love you. Don't ever leave me again. _

His lips on hers… his hands on hers, holding them as she silently weeps into him, never unlocking lips.

She opens her eyes, flings open the door. 

Runs to the car. 

**TBC… review~**


End file.
